#at that fucking office and now i have to wait until the 10th of july which doesn’t seem like a long wait but for struggling bitches like me

[andmuzzlethat]

if i wanted to get paid monthly i would’ve put that on my fucking application

[desdealgunlugardelsur]

Harrison Ford: 2020 summary

A year like no other, as you must have heard countless times. The pandemic changed almost everybody´s life on this planet and Harrison wasn´t an exception. Our lil´ bean is strong and healthy but also has to be safe at home, so this year didn´t deliver many news about Harrison. Still, we had a new Harrison movie, The Call of the Wild, released in February, and a few other events before the lockdown. 2020 was also marked by the death of 3 former Harrison´s costars: Chadwick Boseman, Sean Connery and David Prowse. May all of them rest on peace on Heaven.

A new year begins, and we all wish Harrison (and everyone by the way) a productive, happy and healthy 2021. Stay safe!

JANUARY

Early January:  Harrison Ford enjoying his holidays in the caribbean island of Bonaire

25th: Harrison Ford with singer Carole Bayer Sager in a dinner in support of US Democratic candidate Michael Bloomberg

28th: The Call of the Wild “Adventure Companions” Featurette.  Harrison Ford talks about dogs and companionship in The Call of the Wild’s “Adventure Companions” featurette.

28th: not sure where these pics were taken. Probably in Wyoming?  (pics from Rich Elali)

FEBRUARY

3rd: Verizon Super Bowl Ad Features Harrison Ford And New Pearl Jam Song

Kathleen Kennedy Says Harrison Ford Is Still On For ‘Indiana Jones 5’

Early-mid February: the national and international promotion  of The Call of the Wild  begins

5th: In Mexico City:

Harrison Ford: America Has Lost Its Moral Leadership And Credibility:  The “Star Wars” and “Indiana Jones” star calls out U.S. policy on immigration and climate.

11th: On the Jimmy Kimmel Show:

More here 

13th: Harrison Ford, actor and watch designer.  Newly adapted from Jack London’s literary classic, “The Call of the Wild” transports us to the snowy expanses of Alaska in the 1890s, with Harrison Ford as prospector John Thornton. The actor talks about climate activism, technology and why mechanical watches beat smartwatches every time.

14th: Indiana Jones 5 Starts Shooting In Two Months Says Harrison Ford :  The long delayed fifth Indiana Jones film is finally about to get underway, as Harrison Ford reveals that he will begin shooting in two months. (that was what they were planning before COVID-19 hit the world...)

14th: Harrison Ford: Indiana Jones 5 Will “See Part of His History Resolved”

17th: “A Force ghost? I don’t know what a Force ghost is…I have no idea what a Force ghost is. And I don’t care!“. Legend.

21st: The Call of the Wild is released in cinemas

At the movie premiere in Los Angeles:

BRING ON THE PUPPIES:

More videos:

Call of the Wild Survival Tips!

SNACK??? (Kudos to that girl)

Find epic stories at your library! 

More news:

Of Course Harrison Ford Did His Own Call Of The Wild Stunts And 'Wore Out' The Stunt Team

Harrison Ford's shirtless chest is that buff (at 77) for his 'Call of the Wild' swim scene

26th: Steven Spielberg Won’t Direct ‘Indiana Jones 5,’ James Mangold in Talks to Replace  

27th: Harrison Ford Breaks Down His Career, from 'Star Wars' to 'Indiana Jones'  (Vanity Fair)

Late February: Harrison Ford visits Google´s offices in San Francisco to test the company´s self-driving car. [x] [x] [x] [x]

MARCH

14th:  Harrison spotted in South Hadley, Massachusetts [x].  Apparently Harrison and Calista went to Massachusetts to pick up their son Liam after college shut down due to the coronavirus pandemic.

MARCH

MARCH

MARCH

MARCH

...

APRIL

3rd: Disney delay multiple release dates including Jungle Cruise, The French Dispatch, and Indiana Jones 5  

(…) Another big reveal is that Indiana Jones 5 – which will reportedly be directed by James Mangold – is being pushed back a year, from July 9, 2021 to July 29, 2022.

29th: Harrison Ford under FAA investigation after making a mistake while operating an airplane on the runway

According to the audio obtained by TMZ, Ford, 77, did not follow the direction of a tower operator to “keep short” on the runway because of “traffic”. It seems that the actor did not hear the direction. He nevertheless started to cross the runway, which prompted the operator to reprimand him for not following his instructions.

“Cross this trail now!” I told you to keep it short! You have to listen, “said the operator.

“Excuse me, sir, I thought exactly the opposite. I’m really sorry, ”said Ford immediately.

TMZ said there was no risk of an accident. The other aircraft was allegedly 3600 feet from Ford’s aircraft.

MAY

6th: Lucasfilm Reportedly Wants Harrison Ford To Return For Han And Chewie Star Wars Spinoff (Note: this hasn´t been officially confirmed by Lucasfilm)

15th: No news but I think this is cute: 

From twitter.com/siikasele

21st: The Empire Strikes Back 40th anniversary. 40 years ago, TESB was released on theaters the 21st of May of 1980.

27th: James Mangold Confirmed To Direct Indiana Jones 5.  Producer Frank Marshall confirms James Mangold is directing Indiana Jones 5 and says he's only just begun to work on his own script for the movie.

28th: James Mangold plans to take Indiana Jones franchise 'someplace new'. 

Indiana Jones Writer on How Pandemic Will Affect Film's Script

JUNE

Nothing happens but look at this

You are welcome.

JULY

13th: Happy birthday king!

AUGUST

23rd:  Harrison Ford dropping off his son Liam at College with wife Calista Flockhart via private plane (from tinyrebelstuff)

28th: Chadwick Boseman dies of cancer at the age of 43

Harrison Ford Calls Chadwick Boseman "As Much a Hero as Any He Played" 

“Chadwick Boseman was as compelling, powerful and truthful as the characters he chose to play,” Ford said in a statement to The Hollywood Reporter. “His intelligence, personal dignity and deep commitment inspired his colleagues and elevated the stories he told. He is as much a hero as any he played. He is loved and will be deeply missed.”

SEPTEMBER

24th: Harrison Ford Cleared by FAA in Runway Investigation. "The FAA has closed the case involving the pilot who crossed a Hawthorne Municipal Airport runway without authorization on April 24, 2020. The FAA required the pilot to take a remedial runway incursion training course. When the pilot successfully completed the course, the FAA closed the case with no additional action," the FAA said in a statement to The Hollywood Reporter.

OCTOBER

19th: Harrison Ford & Ed Helms To Star In STX Seafaring Comedy ‘Adventures Of Burt Squire’ 

22nd: Actor and Pilot Harrison Ford Becomes Airlink Spokesperson. Video here

31st: Sean Connery dies at 90.

Sean Connery: Harrison Ford pays tribute to his Indiana Jones father and 'dear friend'

"He was my father... not in life... but in Indy 3," he said.

"You don't know pleasure until someone pays you to take Sean Connery for a ride in the sidecar of a Russian motorcycle bouncing along a bumpy, twisty mountain trail and getting to watch him squirm.

"God, we had fun - if he's in heaven, I hope they have golf courses.

"Rest in peace, dear friend."

NOVEMBER

2nd: Harrison Ford And Lincoln Project Back Anthony Fauci, Advocate Firing Donald Trump  

In the waning hours of the 2020 presidential election, the Lincoln Project has enlisted Harrison Ford to narrate a new ad that plays up President Donald Trump’s suggestion that he will fire Dr. Anthony Fauci.

The spot features a scene from a Trump rally on Sunday in which supporters began chanting “Fire Fauci! Fire Fauci!” and the president responded, “Don’t tell anybody, but let me wait til a little bit after the election.”

Ford then says, “Tomorrow, you can fire only one of them. The choice is yours.”

3rd: Harrison Ford and Bloomberg on Biden 2020

7th: Destiel becomes canon. Harrison doesn´t give a single fuck.

Also Joe Biden wins the US elections. Trump is defeated. Harrison, we know you hate Donald Trump. Congratulations.

21st: Harrison Ford back in Boston, Massachusetts, to pick up his son Liam for Thanksgiving Day.

28th: David Prowse, who played Darth Vader in the original trilogy, dies at the age of 85. Sorry, I didn´t find any words from Harrison on his memory... it seems they weren´t so close. Also, Jeremy Bulloch, the original Boba Fett, dies at 75 the 17th of december.

DECEMBER

10th: Indiana Jones: James Mangold, Harrison Ford Team to Close Out the Character  

Harrison Ford and James Mangold's Indiana Jones 5 will serve as the final chapter for the iconic character.

Disney changed the Indiana Jones logotype. I have a bad feeling about this.

15th: Rare, behind-the-scenes look at 'The Empire Strikes Back'

Including this jewel:

Gif from the @theorganasolo​

31st: And just at the very last day of this weird and strange year...

Disney Reportedly Wants Harrison Ford For Indiana Jones Streaming Show 

Thankfully, then, it seems that the fifth (Indiana Jones) outing may not be the last we see of the actor in the role, as insider Daniel Richtman claims that Disney wants Ford to appear in a series that’s being developed for their streaming service. Further details are unclear and the tipster doesn’t say if it’s an all-new show or a reboot of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, but as one of the Mouse House’s most valuable assets, it wouldn’t be a surprise if they wanted to continue mining the property once Indiana Jones 5 wraps up the big screen stories for good. 

Thanks everyone! Hopefully in 2021 the pandemic will fade and the world will return to normalcy. Luckily the production of Indiana Jones V will start this spring, as well as other Harrison projects such the tv show The Staircase and the movie starring with Ed Elms. Fingers crossed for a year full of (good) news about Harrison. Have a happy and safe 2021.

[drarryruinedme7]

Hate

I’ve had this word sitting in my ask box for forever.. time to revisit it for this little ficlet I wrote! Tagging @rockmarina, @rose-grangerweasleyisbae and @ununquadius ❤️To everyone who can’t enjoy their birthday: know you’re loved and I believe in you!❤️

Drarry | 1,7K | Rating: M | Tags: EWE, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Mention of Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Abusive Dursley Family, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Mention of Hermione and Ron sleeping with Harry when he’s feeling bad, Dating, Amusement Park | Beta: @malenkayacherepakha and @bblgumbby 

Harry Potter Hates His Birthday

Harry Potter hated his birthday.

If it had been his choice, he’d erase the 31st of July from the calendar.

But unluckily, as much as he wished with every cell of his body for it to disappear, every year it showed up, right on time.

He would start feeling sick on the 30th, the day before. He’d wake up, take a look at the calendar and his breath would hitch, his heart beating furiously.

The first time it happened he was six years old.

Harry had thought he was gonna die. His heart was beating so fast it was painful and he was sure his time had come. But the thought hadn’t been disturbing — it almost felt freeing, a relief.

At least, he wouldn’t have had to live his birthday once again.

But after a good hour spent panicking, his stomach churning, making him nauseous and dizzy, he realised he was still alive.

So he got up and went on with his usual life, with no one taking as much as a look at him or wishing him a happy birthday.

Harry knew nothing about anxiety, panic attacks, abusive family. He only knew he felt sick to his bones, alone, and another year older.

He’d spend the day cooking, cleaning, and then closed in his cupboard playing with his toy soldiers.

He had asked once his Aunt Petunia if he could have new ones for his birthday, for his old ones were all ruined and broken by Dudley.

Petunia had looked at him with a raised eyebrow, shaking her head.

“Next time you’ll learn to treat the toys that your uncle Vernon bought you with his own money better.”

It wasn’t true. They were Dudley’s, but when he’d grown sick of them they’d given them to Harry.

Harry didn’t own anything — all he had, it had previously been Dudley’s.

That’s how growing up, he realised he had no idea what his tastes were.

Did he like shirts or t-shirts more? Red or blue? Toy soldiers or toy cars? Nothing.

So, at the age of 10, Harry decided he hated his birthday and he’d never ask his aunt and uncle for anything else.

He decided he wasn’t worth anything good in the world, it wasn’t worth celebrating his birth, he wasn’t worth pretty much anything.

He started living as a ghost, ignoring people’s disgusted faces at his over used clothes, Dudley’s taunts, his own feelings.

By now, he had figured something out. He knew there were things he liked and things he disliked, but he didn’t think anything of that. It wouldn’t bring anything good anyway.

As always, the day of his 10th birthday, Harry spent the day thinking his heart would jump out of his throat, his lungs threatening to collapse at any moment and with an inexplicable need to cry and cry and cry until he forgot his own name.

Things changed the day of his 11th birthday.

The 31st of July, 1991 had been different.

He was curled up on the floor of the crazy refuge where uncle Vernon had brought them to escape the owls, his eyes stinging.

For a second, for a second he had thought someone, anyone, had remembered his birthday and sent him something.

It had been a foolish desire, he knew it, but in the end, he couldn’t stop the tears that started rolling down his cheeks, mixing with the dust of the floor, staining Harry’s face.

A loud thump and a gigantic man entered the refuge, bellowing something about a school where Harry needed to go because he was a wizard.

Several clocks clicked in his head, now everything made sense. He wasn’t weird, sick, or a freak, he was a wizard!

And this man, Hagrid, had come to bring him to this new school where he’d learn magic  — Hogwarts — away from the Dursleys.

Away from the Dursleys!

That one, that one had been a memorable birthday.

But unfortunately, as much as Harry didn’t know anything about panic attacks and abusive family, he didn’t know a thing about ptsd and effects of trauma either.

His life had improved greatly, even with Voldemort at his heels. Honestly, anything was better than the Dursleys.

He even had new friends, and two best friends, Ron and Hermione. Life couldn’t be better than this.

Still, the day of his birthday, Harry woke up again with dread in every cell of his body, tears in his eyes, heart aching.

His friends hadn’t sent him letters, but it hadn’t been a shock. No one ever remembered his birthday.

He was still happy he had them and he’d get to meet them again in September, and he couldn’t wait to go back to Hogwarts.

So why was he still feeling like the day of his birth was a cursed day?

Harry never found an answer.

Every year, on time, his birthday would arrive and pass with wetness on his face, a sour taste in his mouth and a burning worse than fire in his chest.

He’d read his friends’ letters, eat the candies they’d sent him, flip through the photo album Hagrid gifted him and still.

Still think he didn’t deserve any of that, thinking his life wasn’t worth celebrating.

—–

The 31st of July, 1998 had been the worst of all of Harry’s birthdays.

A War had just ended, too many people had died, too many things were wrong to be happy, to even try and think his life could be different now or that he was worth living now.

Everyone had sent him something to celebrate, even strangers who only wanted to thank him for winning the War, for what he had done.

But what he had done exactly? Killed a man, let others die, died himself.

He burnt all the letters, threw away all the gifts, closed himself in Grimmauld Place, blocking everyone else out.

He’d finally cried until his throat had burnt, his head was throbbing and with the absolute certainty he wasn’t ever, ever, ever going to celebrate his birthday again in his life.

Then, luckily enough, in 1999, the day of his birthday became a wizarding National Holiday.

Not only did he have to celebrate it, but he even had to endure silly social parties, with thousands of people he had never met.

So now he had gone from ‘no one remembers my birthday’ to ‘everyone celebrates my birthday because I was brave enough to kill a man’.

What a reason to be remembered for.

At least now Harry knew.

Now Harry had started seeing a therapist, Rebecca, who explained to him a lot about triggers, trauma brain, panic attacks, anxiety.

He had now acquired new tools to keep them at bay, to endure the day and arrive at the end of it without drowning in self-hate.

Except for arriving at home every time with tears in his eyes, Hermione and Ron in the bed with him, holding him, silently telling him he was worth living and he was loved.

Five years after the War, it was the 31st of July, 2003. Harry was at a coffee shop with Neville, heartily laughing at one of his thousands of stories about his beloved plants.

Sometimes after the War, Harry had realised he shared his birthday with one of his dearest friends and from that day on, they would always spend the day together.

They’d joke during those stupid silly social parties, Neville would always say he ‘had risked being The Boy Who Lived by a whisker’, but ‘got away with it pretty well’, and that he ‘was celebrated in all of the Wizarding World but with the privilege of no gossiping and prints around’.

It had started to make Harry happier and more carefree. At last, he had a reason to be happy on the 31st of July. His best bud Neville was born!

And so here they were, drinking coffee and laughing together, when none other than Draco Malfoy entered the coffee shop, glowing blond hair and slender legs in tow.

Harry’s coffee stuck in his throat, making him cough, drawing Malfoy’s attention who turned his head and raised his eyebrows to the sky when he saw Harry.

He froze, looking from Neville to Harry several times before making a step and approaching them.

“Hello.”

Fuck, that voice. Harry thought he wouldn’t have never heard it again.

“Happy Birthday to both of you.” Malfoy’s hand stretched in front of them. Neville grasped it, thanked him.

Harry looked horrified when a thought formed in his mind. The War was over, the man standing in front of him right now had surely changed during the years, and he had remembered his birthday, of course.

It wouldn’t hurt to accept his hand, so he did. He grasped Malfoy’s hand, smiling and receiving a smile back from him too.

Malfoy had smiled, for real, to Harry. And Harry had had something like 2 seconds to realise Draco Malfoy was absolutely, undeniably, utterly, handsome.

And then he recalled every time during school, Malfoy had always remembered Harry’s birthday. To taunt him, of course, but he never had taunted anyone else on their birthday, right? It had all been for Harry.

It was such a stupid thought that Harry started laughing uncontrollably, because seriously if he was happy that someone had always remembered his birthday and not because of who he was, but to mock him, there was something wrong with him.

And Malfoy had tightened his grip on Harry’s hand and had looked worried at Neville, who shook his head amazed.

“Erm, are you okay, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice sounded amused and Harry found himself nodding, and a second after saying, “Great! What do you think of having dinner with me?”

Neville’s eyes widened so much Harry feared they’d fall down that instant, as Malfoy had laughed incredulously.

“Sure, Potter.”

But Harry wasn’t kidding. At 7 pm he was in front of Malfoy’s office — he worked as Unspeakable with Hermione, a couple of calls and Harry had been able to track him down.

They went out to dinner, had fun, went to the amusement park after, did some rides, bought cotton candy and a goldfish, named it Umbridge.

They went back together to Grimmauld Place, placed Umbridge in a fishbowl, fucked all night, laughed at their stupidity, laughed at the ridiculous situation.

Harry didn’t know how, but from that day on Draco Malfoy had never walked out of his house and life, and his birthday had stopped being so horrible.

[harringrovehouse]

Love Him for Who He Is.

In 2012 Tommy needs some advice from Billy.

“Hey Dad?” The door opens and Nora’s head appears in the crack, Billy barely glances up from the reports he’a trying to file.

“Yeah baby girl, what’s up?” Normally Billy would have given Nora his full and undivided attention, but he only had a small amount of time to finish these reports before his paternity leave kicked in and he’d be locked out of the system for the next six to eight months.

“Well uh Mr. Hall is at the door, you know that Mr. Hall. Yeah he says he needs to speak with you.” Billy paused from signing his name under ‘Sheriff’ and looked up at his daughter, she stood in the doorway shrugging. “He didn’t say what it was about. Just asked if my dad was home.” Billy sighed and stood up, pushing his chair backwards and making his way to the door. Nora backed up, her arms opening wide as she gestured him towards the door. Billy rolled his eyes at her.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” She shrugged again.

“This is going to be far more interesting than Geometry.”

“Homework, now!”

Nora gave a huge sigh and rolled her eyes, walking back upstairs to her room. Billy waited until he heard her door close before he continued towards the door. Stopping to collect his thoughts before he opened it. They hadn’t seen Tommy since they moved back to Hawkins, it had been at the annual 4th of July picnic/free swim at the community pool and Tommy had been drunk. Like drunk, Hopper had taken him in for being 3x over the legal limit. Steve had been playing with their new baby girl, Hailey, tickling her tummy while he kept an eye on Nora and Chase in the kiddie pool. Billy had left his family just long enough to get drinks and burgers, he had looked away for just a moment before Nora’s screech had brought his attention right back to them.

In the time Billy had been distracted Tommy had stumbled up to Steve and started hurling slurs at him. Calling him a fag, and yelling about how they shouldn’t have ever been given kids in the first place. Tommy had grabbed Steve’s tank top and hauled him up off the blanket, Steve had only just managing to avoid stepping on a screaming Hailey.

Billy had dropped the items he was carrying and raced back to his family but before he could get there Steve had straightenedup and cleaned Tommy’s clock, hit him so hard Tommy stumbled backwards and into the pool. Where a bloom of blood had erupted and caused people to jump out of the water. Billy collected Hailey in his arms just before Steve had whipped around and kissed him, in front of god and the whole town.

“Anyone else got issues with my family!” Steve had asked when he pulled away, knuckles bloody and face hard. No one had bothered them since then.

Tommy had been fined for public intoxicating and disturbing the peace, he and Carol had then moved to Indianapolis for a few years. People in the town still gave Tommy the odd look here and there but for the most part he seemes to have cleaned up and kept on the straight and narrow. That didn’t mean Billy trusted him around his family, Nora and Chase had had nightmares for weeks after the incident and Steve hadn’t slept for a week worrying that the whole damn town would be after them next. Billy had wanted to take them back to California, but Steve insisted that they stay. For his Mom, for Max and Lucas who were young parents struggling to go to college and keep food on the table, for Joyce and Hopper. They’d returned to Indiana for their family, and Steve wasn’t about to allow Tommy Hall to ruin their fucking lives because he was a bigot. If anyone else in the town had an issue well fuck them too, Steve had no problem breaking their noses too.

Billy schooled his face and opened the door. Tommy was standing on the other side, looking pale and shaking as he clutched his hat. “Tommy.” Billy greeted, leaning against the door, blocking the inside of the house from view.

“Uh, Sheriff.” Tommy looked up at Billy’s face and then back down to the ground. “How are you today?”

“Cut the small talk Hall. My kid said you needed to talk to me about something? Someone steal the neon from shop again or something?”

“No, uh no this is more personal.” Tommy shuffled.

“Okay, wel if you need to file a report or something Hank at the station can help-“

“No!” Tommy winced at how loud his voice had just gotten, eyeing Billy’s badge. He’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed his face. “I need to talk to,to” He seemed to struggle with the right words.

“Me?” Billy offered and Tommy nodded dumbly, Billy sighed. When he took over the job from Hop no one told him he’d also become the most unqualified therapist this town had. “Fine, make it quick.” Billy closed the front door and motioned for Tommy to follow him around the side of the house to the side garden, to a small table and chairs. Tommy feel heavily into the chair Billy offered and scrubbed at his face.

“I’m really sorry.” He mumbled and Billy gave him a look. “F-for coming to your home, but I didn’t know who else to talk to and you weren’t at the station.” Billy raised an eyebrow, Tommy had been to the station? “I know I’m probably the last person who should be asking for any kind of favor or advice, but Billy, man. I’m so lost right now.” Tommy looked up at him and Billy could see it, he could see the man drowning behind those eyes. And desite their personal history Billy was still the Sheriff, and it was his duty to serve and protect the people of Hawkins. That included Tommy Hall.

“What’s happening man?”

“It’s Troy,” Tommy and Carol had two boys and two girls. Troy was their oldest boy, he and Nora were in the same age. Billy knew Troy very well as well. From 6th grade to 10th grade Troy Hall and Nora Hargrove-Harrington had hated each other, more than a few times they had both ended up in the Principals office because their fighting had turned physically. It wasn’t until the middle of their 10th grade year did that change, Billy was sure no one knew exactly what but the two of them seemed to have reached a compromise and where no longer in danger of being expelled every other week.

“Oh. Uh he and Nora, they haven’t been fighting again?” Steve would have said something if Nore and Troy had been taken to see their Principal again, but Billy couldn’t remember anything like that being mentioned.

“No! No in fact Nora’s been really really helpful. She uh she’s the one that convinced Troy to tell me.” Tommy seemed to have lost the ability to form words again, Billy sat back and watched him flounder until finally Tommy sighed and looked skyward. “Troy came out to me today.” Billy felt his mouth open a bit, he had not been expecting that.

“Wow. That’s a big step.” Any kid who came out deserved an award in Billy’s opinion. But especially one who had a father like Tommy. “He’s a brave boy.”

Tommy seemed to struggle with something, tears forming in his eyes before he nodded. “He thought I wouldn’t love him.” And then Tommy was crying into the table, Billy jerked back a bit in surprised before he huffed and pulled Tommy up.

“And what the fuck did you say to that?” Billy didn’t have time for Tommy’s shit.

“I said nothing could ever change how I felt about him! He’s my fucking boy!” Tommy looked a mess, it would have been sad to see a full grown man like this but Billy understood. To a degree. “I-I’ll always love him! He and his sibling could burn half this country down and I’d still love them more than anything in this world.”

“Okay! Then why you here man?!” Billy was lost.

“Because man, I love him but the rest of the world, they won’t.” Tommy wiped at his face and dropped his head. “I treated you and Steve like shit when you first came back, let those old bastards down at Bill’s run their mouths about you guys. Call you fags and shit. I let the drink run my mouth for me. I wasn’t worth the air I had, and now! Now my boy is going to have to head out into the world and deal with all the same type of people.” Tommy’s shoudler shook and he looked up at Billy helplessly. “How do I protect him from that Billy. How do I!”

Billy swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at Tommy. Billy had always assumed Tommy, like a majority of people in Hawkins, was just a productive of his small town environment. That he never experienced the real world so he never related to people outside of their own cirlce of ‘normal’ and that they weren’t self aware enough to realize that the world wasn’t as cherry pie as Hawkins was. Billy was both pleasently surprised that Tommy seemed to realize how shit his behavior had been and absolutely dumbfounded that Tommy also realized that now that he knew his child wasn’t ‘normal’ like Hawkins wanted to define the word that he’d be subjected to the same behaviors that Tommy had once forced upon others. It was a strange feeling, realizing your old high school friend wasn’t as stupid as you always thought he was. Billy guessed it was partly from finally maturing past the mental age of 17 and being a parent.

“What do I do Billy. How can I keep him safe.” Tommy was practically begging this time and Billy sighed.

“You love him Tommy. Love him like you always have.” Billy thought bitterly about his own father and about Steve’s, about how they had vowed to never become a thing like those men. “You love him because you’re right Tommy, this world ain’t shit and no one is going to love them as much or as hard as you man. You’re his Dad, no one is every going to mean as much to him as you do. You and Carol are that kid’s whole life. I know he probably doesn’t act like it, but trust me, loving your parents and wanting your parents to love you back is something every kid wants. But the need to be loved, and the fear of being turned away, even by your parents is so strong when you’re the gay kid.” The sharp pain of Neil’s hand across Billy’s face when he told him about Steve was still fresh on Billy’s face. Neil had been hitting him for years before that, but to have that final blow happen sealed the deal. Neil had never loved Billy. But Tommy, Tommy wasn’t Neil. He might have been a loudmouth and an asshole for a bit but he had always been a good Dad to his kids. All he needed to do was continue exactly what he had always been doing. “Just be there for him, love him when he needs it, be his support system when need one, be there for him when bad things happen. Because they will Tommy. He’ll get hurt, by words and maybe even physically so you need to be there. Make up for the shit the world is going to throw at him, that’s all you need to do.”

Tommy broke down again, and this time Billy placed a hand on his shoulder and listened to Tommy’s fears and concerns. He listened to Tommy until the sky began to darken, and Steve’s car rolled into the driveway and Tommy’s phone buzzed.

“It’s Troy.” Tommy said with a sniff.

“Answer it man.” Billy watched as Steve poked his head around the side of the house, one eyebrow raised before he gestured to the bags in his hands and headed inside the house.

“Yeah bud, of course I can give you a ride. Don’t even worry.” Tommy hung up and smiled down at his screen. All four of his kids smiled back at him. “He just got done with baseball practice, asked for a ride.”

“Go get him man.” Billy stood and Tommy followed quickly, hand out.

“Thank you Billy. Thank you so much man, and I’m sorry. I-I really am.” They shook hands and Billy nodded, he and Steve could handle themselves. They’d put Tommy and his shit in the back of their minds.

“Just be a good Dad to your son Tommy. He deserves that.”

They walked to the front of the hosue together, findinf Steve, Nora and Hailey unloading the grocery bags. Billy watched as Steve gave Tommy a look, before returning to the grocery bags.

“Thanks again Billy.” Tommy shook his hand again before disappearing into his truck and driving away.

“What was that about?” Steve snorted, shoving a couple of bags into Billy arms.

“Troy came out to his Dad today.” Nora supplied, digging through a bag and pulling out a thing of M&Ms. Steve took them away from her, and shoved them into his front pocket. “Heyyy you said you’d get those for me.” She pouted and Steve handed her the eggs.

“After dinner. And did he? That’s very brave of him.”

“It is.” Nora agree, snatching the candy back when Steve wasn’t looking. “He was really worried that his parents weren’t going to be okay with him but I told him my Dad would shot his Dad if he hurt him and that he could come live with us if he needed to. It took a bit but he’s said he finally got the courage to tell his parents this morning.” Steve and Billy looked at each other, at least they finally knew what had happened in 10th grade.

“Did you now. You know you’re father is the town Sheriff, he can’t just go around shotting people.” Steve told her. Nora narrowed her eyes at him.

“I was talking about you. Dad would just use his fists.” Billy made an offended nosie, he’d come a long way with his anger management. Nora tossed him a look. “And I’d have helped!” She ripped the M&Ms open and dumped them into her mouth.

“Hey! Dinner!” Steve grabbed the last of the bags and chased their daughter back into the house. Billy watched them go, a heavy content feeling in his chest. He’d never gotten the same level of love he knew Tommy had for his son, but that didn’t matter anymore, Billy’s own children had grown up knowing their fathers loved them, enough to offer them up at substitute fathers for a scared boy. Billy supposed he’d was doing something right.

————————-

This idea came to me and I just needes to write it down. I liked the idea of Tommy being a dick to Steve/Billy when they came out, but then his own son comes out to him and suddenly Tommy realizes what a shit person he was and goes to talk to Billy about it. Also idk I like Hall as Tommy’s last name they’re probably gonna give him some dumb stupid long ass last name just to fuck with us XD I can feel it!

Hope you like it!

[thinkpurpledrank]

Drank’s Postseason Rotation Preference

Pictured is Alex Wood, clearly confused about what his postseason role will be.

---------------

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

Drank can hear you laughing, from wherever you are.

“PLAYOFFS?!?” you scream, in the most Jim Mora-way possible. “WE’RE TALKING ABOUT PLAYOFFS?!?”

Case in point:

LITERALLY PLAYOFFS. LITERALLY GUMBY.

The playoffs are literally two weeks away, and while the Dodgers have been doing whatever they can to sabotage their playoff aspirations, all media sources inform Drank that the Dodgers have already clinched a playoff spot, and are merely a single win or an Arizona loss away from bypassing the play-in game, to the actual tournament of pain. One more win, and the Dodgers’ odds of winning a World Series skyrockets to 12.5%, which is about where it would have been had the Dodgers won 116 games anyway.

I guess we do actually have to talk about playoffs! And now that the Dodgers are pretty much in this tournament of pain, they might as well try to actually figure out the best method to getting wins, preferably at the rate they were getting wins in June and July, and not the last 4 weeks.

To begin, let’s focus on the starting rotation. The rotation had 94 qualified candidates before the year, and then injuries dwindled that number down to roughly 8. Let’s start with the obvious.

GAME 1: CLAYTON KERSHAW

Literally Clayton Kershaw. Need I say more?

Okay, literally Clayton Kershaw not hanging sliders up in the zone to Aaron Altherr. That Kershaw is a bad Kershaw, that really needs to avoid showing up in the postseason, or I might ban the internet and its hot takes from my house forever.

The good news is that, relatively speaking, Kershaw is pretty much the best pitcher in baseball again. And he won’t be pitching on 3-days rest. That’s a start.

GAME 2: YU DARVISH

Darvish has been maddeningly inconsistent since being acquired on August 1st, which at least is better than being Mattingly consistent. His fastball touches 97, his breaking pitches have wicked movement that at least will play as unhittable, and he will lose control of all of his pitches at random times.

Basically, since becoming a Dodger, Darvish has showcased why he has both A) the highest K/9 rate in baseball history, and B) why the Marlins could tag him for 9 runs in a 3-inning span.

The good news is that these regular season results don’t really mean anything. The other good news is that Darvish has the ability to put up a damn fine box line score even if he has no semblance of control with all of his pitches (see his last start in San Francisco). The bad news is that I really, really want good Yu Darvish to show up in October, and I have no idea if that is how it will actually play out.

Be good, Yu.

GAME 3: RICH HILL

Rich Hill is like the left-handed Yu Darvish, in that when his stuff is on point, he has the ability to take a no-hitter into the 9th inning... and sometimes even the 10th inning, before the season then spirals out of control. But unlike Darvish, Hill pretty much relies on 2 pitches in 2 parts of the zone. When it is working, it is an absolute thing of beauty.

In 2017, Hill has had lapses where he loses control, where he might walk 2 or 3 batters in an inning or give up consecutive home runs. When he is on, though, he is arguably the best #3 starter in a field full of really good #3 starters. Going to need that deception to play well, and going to need Hill to play well with the majority of his playoff starts likely to be on the road.

GAME 4: HYUN-JIN RYU

Just like we thought, another dominant left-handed... wait a minute, this guy didn’t make the All-Star team!

You might be wondering why the actual 4th best starter isn’t listed as the 4th best starter. I’ll get to that reasoning in a second. For now, note that Ryu has been perfectly fine as a starting pitcher, who has a .310 OBP against the first two times through the order. Expect 4 or 5 innings out of Ryu, then move onto the next piece.

Yes, I understand what Dave Roberts said. HEAR ME OUT, DAVE.

SUPER HYBRID RELIEVER LEFTY PERSON THAT HAS BECOME VERY VALUABLE FOR POSTSEASON TEAMS: ALEX WOOD

There it is!! Alex Wood--who led baseball in ERA for much of the season, who had elite strikeout rates for most of 2017 compared to the other elites in the game, who even got the anti-NERD crowd excited with his 15-3 record--should come out of the bullpen.

But not in any bad way at all. This is actually quite a prestigious role, if you have only paid attention to how postseason baseball has played out the last few years.

Let us start with the role Andrew Miller played in the 2016 MLB playoffs, when it became cool to be a reliever who could come in during the 5th or 6th inning instead of the 9th. The ability to put out potential fires and massive threats in games where every out and every run is absolutely crucial, is absolutely crucial. Terry Francona and Andrew Miller proved exactly why the save stat is the dumbest fucking stat of all time, because Miller really earned the save (and really, the win on several occasions) by coming in for 2 innings during the middle of a baseball game and shutting down the opposing team’s best hitters, at a moment where the game was pretty much on the line.

That role proved to be so effective, that the Dodgers elected to spend $80 million on a relief pitcher, which I would have never guessed would have ever happened with this front office. That role even proved to be so effective, that the Dodgers were rumored to be dangling some valuable pieces of the farm to bring in another potential dominant lefty reliever in Zach Britton--who was not even good enough to pitch in the 2016 AL wild card game!!

And the carry-over is obvious, as teams are already focusing on implementing that strategy for October. The Yankees, for instance, have like 7 different elite relievers that they can use at any time, and not just have to rely on Chapman metaphorically lodging bullets into garage walls in the 9th inning. The Red Sox have discussed using once-dominant-but-now-injured-a-lot lefty David Price in this role as well. Andrew Miller also figures to be Andrew Miller again come October.

So, if you are the Dodgers, why not Alex Wood?

Mind you, this is not for a loogy position--not when Tony Watson and Tony Cingrani have pitched as well as they have since being acquired. I am talking about using Alex Wood for 1-2 innings in 3 or 4 games of each series.

When Wood first moved to the bullpen to start the year, his fastball velocity touched 93. To pair that with his improved backdoor slider, opposing hitters had no chance. Then, as Alex Wood moved back into the rotation and kept his dominant form, his innings piled up again. Then, as his innings piled up, well...

You can clearly see from this handy chart and screengrab that as time has gone on, Alex Wood’s pitches have gotten less fast. That is a problem, coinciding with a few lackluster starts recently, which has contributed a little bit to the team’s terrifying downfall.

The point is, maybe it would not be the worst idea to put Alex Wood in the bullpen, where maybe you can find that uptick in velocity once again. If you assume Wood pitches 1-2 innings in relief in 3 games of the NLDS, then what you are really banking on is that Wood pitches 4-6 innings with the 93mph fastball, as opposed to 5-6 innings with the 91mph fastball. You are spreading out Wood’s value across the middle innings for multiple games, as opposed to pitting all of Wood’s value into 1 game, as unconventional as that sounds.

Oh, and in case you have not been paying attention to the last 4 weeks, middle relief has been sort of a clusterfuck tire fire. Maybe, in those games, relying on Wood to pitch the 6th and 7th innings before handing the ball to Morrow and Jansen is not the worst idea.

Of course, this does not mean anything if Wood can’t get his fastball velocity back up. But, in Drank’s opinion, it is the best, most wisest solution. Particularly also made by the fact that Ryu and Kenta Maeda have been perfectly acceptable rotation figures this season, despite their recent struggles as well.

Also, like Andrew Miller, Alex Wood is left-handed. Their first names both start with the letter A. They are pretty much clones of each other.

So, maybe, consider that.

Two weeks until Game 1 of the PLAYOFFS!??!? I am so terrifed.

[moshfeghpilled]

describe how each high school year by semester went for you

9th grade: We don’t call it a play date anymore, it is hanging out, hanging by our toes like wet lipped fruit bats, like jungle gym monkey kids. Young and swollen. Blood, immature blood, pink blood, fresh meat blood pepto bismol up the wazoo, and spit under my bed. Code names aren’t for spies, they’re for 14 year old girls with googley eyes, not that we needed them. Kevin and Grace, Ellie and Joshua, Paloma and Matt which is weird because I’m hot for him, and they kinda look like siblings. Pink shorts, black tights, Jimmy Eat World, pizza bagels and lucky charms under a fresh white linen morning like detergent sealed crust between my eyelids, you tore them open. I mean, not yet. But soon. I discover neon sex scenes, Sky Ferreira, and Skins and this is where the final hopscotch box stops; at the end of the subway platform. This is where I’m supposed to jump. Monkey balls fall on our heads as we walk home, and autumn leaves crunch like drum line snare beats. All godless girls with snakes and cherry lollipops and 9 millimeters pointed at our clits, Bend it Like Beckham under your itchy wool blankets, Alice’s mom thinks I’m cool, and I stay for dinner and crack some risky jokes like a fox among wolves. (I think he looks at me when I look away). Me and Hana FaceTime I take screenshots of her dancing with her cat. The girls who play soft ball in short shorts, the girls who call them sluts, the boys who watch. We dance through rainbows in the sprinklers on the way to the Homecoming dance and pretend we don’t care we don’t have dates. We’re floating in the cytoplasm, floating on the cotton candy overdose cause our parents drop us off at the bowling alley but we are too loyal to sneak out the back. We pool our money every Friday after school for the spring break road trip we’re going on when Hana gets a car, and one of us has lost our virginity, and none of us are scared of the dark.

Miss Budd yelled at me for not standing for the pledge of allegiance, and I was 4 years old again. My English teacher held me back, and held my hand, and gave me a safety pin for my missing button, and told me it would be. Okay.

10th grade: We were on the news that year. Cristo’s curls on KTLA, solemn, and not the boy cross eyed and high with his pants around his ankles. Suddenly we’re all standing up straight, suddenly we’re being told we can’t wear leggings because somebody posted a video of Penelope having sex with Max on Facebook. Suddenly we’re underground in the girls locker room (red varsity knee socks, Dina drowning the spider nests with Victoria’s Secret rose perfume, humid with shame and lesbian suspicion) holding our arms in front of our naked breasts, single file like ants for the syphilis test. The boys who drew penises in fire and salt on the soccer field grass, like druid frat boys, but not the boys who put gorilla glue in the classroom locks, and not the boys who wrote their hit list in the red pen on the back of Mr. Chan’s syllabus and ended up in court, who called in a bomb threat, just to get the test pushed back. We all took turns getting our ghosts exorcized in the principals office. It was pompeii and pandemonium, and nobody was safe, not even us girls sleeping wrapped in the dust of library encyclopedias. You moved away from me like I was illiciting the restless black dreams on your grandmas shitty air mattress. The sheets are clean enough, but this attic is haunted, you keep waking up in the middle of the night to your body sinking like a pirate ship caught by the Kraken, the floor gnawing at your bones again so you just. Got up. And slept somewhere else. My English teacher held me back, and told me I was a good writer but don’t be so angry, and I cried right there, and she gave me a kleenex from her Shakespeare tissue holder and I blew this stupid pain head first out of my nose. I never told you about that. Maybe if I had you would’ve felt bad for me and stayed a little longer. But you hung out with those buckwild kids under the spot by the willow tree, and it was easy. it was just snuffing out an annoyance. A mosquito licking the ruby of your earrings that you shooed away. Our birthstones were both rubies, you know, we were twin cancers with balmy skin and busted appendixes, the aliens took you once and the only explanation was a scar on your spine, and I reckon I should’ve known they’d come back for you.

(You are gonna tell your kids about these cherry cola years of golden suburbia, and midnight blue debauchery snapping teenage knees, and furrow your brow forgetting the name of the girl you spent the first two calling your best friend.) You cheered at football games. You got drunk with them at night, and you were bursting and missing teeth like a watermelon smile, you rubbed up against each other like cats they touched you in all the right places and you didn’t text me anymore. You went to sleepovers and posted photos on Instagram, I wasn’t invited, I thought this bullshit was supposed to stop happening in elementary school. All the things we thought would never happen, lockdown drills, fire drills, earthquake drills and we still weren’t prepared. It was. Pandemonium. It was. Chemical fires in Mr. Dow’s science class. And me and my plans were just. so fucking boring standing next to your cherry blossom hurricane. You didn’t wait for me after class anymore and I just. Looked so stupid trying to catch up. Blood, mature blood, cows blood in the manure for the roses to eat. Black blood, like storm sky, I dish out this milkshake I pick the scab and I lick the blood away. Thomas comes out and dubs himself the gay cliche, we walk home together on the yellow brick road, and we pray a tornado will land the school library on our corpses so we can die with those sparkly shoes on. Those ruby shoes on. The Fates gagged me with a pack of jolly ranchers. I got straight A’s while Rome was falling. Nobody has ever made me feel so small.

11th grade: New school. The kids talk different here. Depression in California is like getting a cold in mid-July. So ironic it’s almost insulting. I’m pretty sure it was raining all year, but don’t count on it, I lived sub-terrestrialy with my mothers tulip bulbs. Today’s Wednesday? I thought it was Friday? I thought yesterday was Sunday? Depression in California is like running after a rabbit in the woods. It doesn’t matter how sunny it is, you will suddenly look up and it’s night, and the trees are not your friends, even when they are as skinny and shaky as you. You will get stuck in the swamp, leave your shoes behind, and not even remember why you were out here in the first place.

Headache. Stomach ache. Lots of those, those are easy to fake. Menstrual cramps, vomiting, gut wrenching, kinda vomiting. A personal favorite. I got to get my hands dirty for that one, I got to reach for the gag reflex like a remote control and press fast forward and feel my arc capsizing, until the static buzzed and I was pale like southern gothic tragedy, I’m not bulimic I just don’t wanna go to school. Depression in California is like an abandoned zoo. Everything echoing animal shrieks. They set them free but the cages were empty long before that. I make some friends, nice ones who laugh at my jokes, and I feel like I should get a sticker for it, but I do more nervous shaking than laughing.

Depression in California is like a badly maintenanced carnival. We’ve gone around the ferris wheel 8 times now and nobody seems to notice. The cotton candy polluting my blood, running slow and globby while the kids below spin, the kids drop, the kids could die, but they just giggle hand in hand with smiling clowns who pump them full of teeth rotting sweets, the winking lights are blurry this far away, and it feels like eons before we’ll get back to the bottom. I’m out of tokens. I think I’m just gonna jump.  

12th grade: Trump won. I think I might like girls. My dad jokes about his own death so I know what it means to be angry now, like femurs forged from the goddamn ring of Isildur. Is this what’s normal now? Fucking boys who are oil slick and easy living, and lose my socks in their dorm rooms? Meet them for diner food and xans on the weekend, and everything just temporary? Is that just what everybody wants now? My brother got a green card marriage, but I guess he loves her for real now. We watch the Walking Dead until the streetlights glaze over our eyes, he asks me if I have a boyfriend, no. If I’ve had any since I last saw him, no. If no is my favorite word, yes. Thing is I’ve never been anyone’s girl cause I’ve got a volcano where I should have a stomach. I know what it is to live on the red planet. But I ignore all that and go to concerts that bleed beer and swoon for boys who drink the blood. I guess we’re used to falling off of things so we do it on purpose now. It’s not over but I know how it’s gonna end. Cracked skull, and police lights. And to the break of dawn on Brandon’s roof, boxers stained with mayonnaise, and Deadpool is probably his favorite movie or some dumb white boy shit like that. I’m not gonna cry when I leave for college, I’m gonna cry at the car rental watching the sun bleed out on the trees. I’m gonna cry in the knothole of an oak tree, hiding from the freshman mixer party in the woods I knew I shouldn’t have come to once the social anxiety starts clawing up soaked in the gallon of strawberry Crush I downed to calm myself down. You know, in some other parallel universe, my parents never divorced and we dispute where the sugar pantry should be at inopportune times, and I don’t straight jacket myself with the echoplex sound of my mother screaming over my dead body just to not inhale the chlorox under the sink. I was so bloody, I just wanted to be clean.

I thought it was like the 80’s, the rusty exhaust pipe of Matt’s car turning the snow black while he’s wasting time daydreaming of my piston pumping sloppy hips, and rumored things that happen in the backseat, and kicking cans in no particular direction, and first love sticky and first love stabbed into your kidney and you never really recover. I thought it was sixteen candles, and say anything, but it’s getting bloodshot squirrelly smoking hash in the disabled bathroom stall. It’s a personality disorder grown up from the ground like a mushroom that is poison to the touch, and thrown away birthday presents, and valentines day balloons stuck in the trees. It’s dropping the last slice of college acceptance celebration cake on the floor for your dogs breakfast, and cartoon rain puddles for eyes talking about how scary it is to drive on the freeway. Karina and Maddie rough housing like pit bulls in fifth period cause we don’t do shit in that class and pretending that we are not all gonna be strangers in 6 weeks before we. Before we. Please don’t make me say it out loud.

My English teacher held me back, and told me to make up the quiz I missed, and that was the only time I will ever be happy that some strangers just stay that way. And Daddy, I will miss you when you leave me, and Daddy I will meet you in the next life you just gotta wait for me ok?

I am not the kind of girl people have crushes on. I am the kind of girl who can survive 18 stealing food from parties, couch surfing, living like a lightning bolt. There one minute, and gone the next.

[siobhanoleary-blog]

interning in another language; my thoughts after my first three months

I’m an intern, and it’s a hot Friday in July, which in French workplaces means that you’re either in your car on the way to your family country home, or you’re at work wondering why you’re not.

My office is Parisian perfection.

It takes up a floor of a Hausmannian building just by Place Vendome. Dark, almost black floorboards contrast with white painted walls. The desks are white and are pushed together to create a semi-communal workspace. My section of the floor has another secondary office with clear glass sliding doors which separate us. At the end of the office, right next to where I am sitting, is a wall lined with windows that lead onto a balcony which overlooks the Rue de la Paix. If I step out onto the balcony - as I often do in the mornings with an espresso -  I can see the Vendôme column to my left, Palais Garnier to my right, and if I look straight ahead, the top of the Eiffel Tower that pokes out above the Hotel Mansart.

As I write this, there is a wealth of conversations happening around me. Here, it’s a constant hum of stylish and attractive french people passionately taking phone calls and delivering high speed “qu’est ce qui a?”’s to each other, yet I can’t understand most of it. That’s because I’m an 18 year old Australian currently interning at a prestigious French film production company in Paris, yet I don’t have any experience in the film industry, nor know anyone who works in it, don’t study film production (or anything at all for that matter), and I don’t speak French… I never really considered that I might work somewhere where learning on the job would encompass so much more than just the work itself. What am I doing here, you (or we all) might ask?

When I arrived in Paris I was just an eighteen year old, who really knew nothing of the world, and who had no idea what she wanted to do with it. Only two of those things have changed since then and one of them is that I am now nineteen. In fact I actually never seriously considered working in the film industry until… well… until I realised it was the perfect hybrid of creation and intellectualism. At the time, I was telling my friend that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, she then gave me a great quip of advice; ‘Find someone who has the life that you want, and do what they do’. French directors have cool lives, take it from me.

I’ve always been an avid watcher of films, and always had a creative side that I wasn’t willing to forfeit for the wholly academic careers I knew I could pursue. Directing to me seemed a really fantastic amalgamation of the two.

When my 3 month french course was starting to draw to a close I got worried. I was going to run out of money, and would need to be employed as soon as I finished the course or risk having to go back to Australia with my tail between my legs. After the horror of the incessant hospitality work that I did before I moved over here, I felt almost sick at the thought of having to make coffee and clean for hours on end again.

In Australia, there isn’t really an internship culture. You don’t hear of people as interns like you do in Paris. The idea of interning was not on my radar at all before moving here, and I always thought that really it meant collecting coffees with no pay. To my surprise, in Paris usually only one of those things is true. There is a massive intern culture; it’s a requirement of many university courses to complete one ranging anywhere between 3-6 months, and its French law that you have to be paid. After I found out about this wonderful, life changing world of the intern, I began to email a copy of my CV and a lengthy, passionate and unnecessarily emotive cover letter to every film production company in Paris that I could find from a google search. I think in total I emailed over thirty companies.

I got no response from most of them. Some of them replied saying they already had an intern, and others asked me if I spoke french to which I decided not to reply at all in an attempt to not affect my very volatile, very important mental state; wherein I was convincing myself that I was wholly capable of doing what I wanted to do. Then, one day, I received a response from a producer working at a company that I thought was far too established and professional to take on a monolingual teenager for no apparent reason. She requested an interview with me.

The day of the interview I was shitting bricks. I had about a month left of my course, with no guarantee that I was going to be able to survive in the city after its end. Unsurprisingly, my money was going down faster than I had anticipated, and I was having panic attacks that would wake me from my sleep with such an intense feeling of dread that I thought I was dying. My dad is a doctor, and I actually asked him if he thought it was possible that I could have a brain tumour. I would be sound asleep, dreaming, when all of a sudden everything would become corrupted, and I would wake up, desperately looking around my studio trying to figure out what exactly I was so afraid of. There was nothing there, of course, just the sound of my exasperated breath.

I was totally taken aback when I arrived at the office. It seemed unreal. I thought how I could ever be so blessed as to be able to go to this incredible place every day, and belong there. Everyone there would know I belonged there because I was employed there just like they were employed there. If I saw one of them on the street outside of work, we might say hello to each other. Maybe they’d be with someone who would ask who I was and they’d say ‘oh she’s from work’, and that would be a sufficient explanation. I could not conceive of it.

The interview was surprisingly relaxed and went well. The producer was young, and lovely, and basically said to me that she was happy to take me on and didn’t see why not. There were a lot of why nots, however, but we didn’t really consider them at the time.

Later that day, after I had called both of my parents in an unprecedented state of glee whilst strolling through the glory of the second arrondissement, high on life thinking I was some kind of prodigy, I received a follow up email.

The email stated that I would have to prove that I can understand and work in french before they would accept me. I would be given a month to improve before meeting with the production coordinator alone, where the secondary interview would be conducted in french. Fuck. To be perfectly honest I couldn’t speak an eloquent word in french.

It’s actually really difficult to gage someones proficiency in a language properly, and I seemed to have inflated my own in my head. I could say the basics, and had broken knowledge of certain aspects, but certainly nothing that would allow me to work in a french only workplace.

I passed that month in a near constant state of stress. I was at a flatline state of feeling like I’d left my phone on the metro. It was terrible. Well, that’s a bit much actually in the meantime I was enjoying Paris if you get my gist.

When the day of the interview arrived I had no more stress to give. Until I was just outside the door, knocking. The longer it took for someone to answer the more time I had to realise what was about to happen. It reminded me of when my dad told me about his medical final. Everyone was waiting outside the locked doors of the exam auditorium, and as the minutes continued to tick on he yelled ‘LET US IN! EVERY SECOND A VITAL PIECE OF INFORMATION SLIPS OUT OF MY BRAIN!'

From the moment she opened the door I really realised the voracity of my global move. I could understand maybe every 10th or 20th word she said. I was in a state of complete absorption, willing my ears and my brain to pull it together for the team, cos we don’t have another plan. By the end of it, I had grasped the most important thing: she basically said ‘why not?’ and that we would have a trial period and see how it goes. How long would the trial period be? No clue. Would I get paid? No idea. How much? Je ne sais pas du tout. All these questions and I didn’t want to even try to ask one, fearing that it might be the rectangle of wood that pulls the whole jenga tower down.

That was nearly three months ago now. I could tell you that its all been fine and dandy, because I’m still here, but the reality is that it has been really, really, really hard. I actually had been offered an english speaking internship with an art gallery at the same time, that I turned down for this position. So when things were getting really tough - namely when I was pulled aside and told I was really ‘timide’, which I found a little frustrating seeing that in order for me to be outgoing without speaking french I’d have to seem like a mute and, I guess, use extreme facial expressions or something - I wondered why the fuck I’d decided to make things so hard for myself. I have an amazing law and politics degree waiting for me in Australia, in a language I really love and have the hang of. And yet no, I decided to come here, and struggle, with all my knowledge and opinions tucked away under this disability of not being bilingual.  

I have had many moments of being on the verge of tears. It’s incredibly difficult - and humbling, I might add - to go from an environment (high school, in my case), where you thrived because of your academic ability to one where you can barely ask for the time. And where no one would bother to ask you for it, knowing the difficulty and awkwardness that might arise from you not being able to understand.

No one wanted to talk to me, and I actually found myself hoping that they wouldn’t. I was scared to even make eye contact, fearing that if I did, someone might actually try to engage with me. Breaking into the social scene of a new work place is hard enough, and I have found it nearly impossible in another language. This is not to say that my employers and fellow employees have not been accommodating, truly it is far from that. My own lack of self confidence and insecurity, my own fear of seeming dumb and incapable, is what has disabled me the most.

Only now do I find myself increasingly able to laugh at the office jokes, answer questions, and engage in French. Sometimes I feel despondent that maybe it’s become too late for me in this work place to make up for what my estimation became after my first few weeks. Too late for me to finally be able to inquire about other aspects of the company and work that I am interested in. Too late for me to ask more questions. But I have to force myself not to think like this.

This experience has been the hardest, yet most rewarding of any experience in my life so far. The personal growth I have experienced cannot be underestimated, but I do have a long way to go. But I think that is a good thing.

If I had no where to go, well then I’d just be nowhere.

[evasjournal]

THAT’S A WRAP

Well, it’s definitely been a few weeks and quite a lot has happened.

First of all, Christmas came early for me this year by way of what is definitely the most awesome Christmas gift I’ve ever received. A gift from Zack and myself to me – we got the Lexus. Yes, it’s true, I now drive a 2017 Lexus RX 350. That’s my car. It’s amazing! I’ve had her two weeks and a day. Already she has a few miles on her. She had 11 when I took her home, but I traveled to Ames for an ISU basketball game last week and then also back to Storm Lake for Christmas. Goodness, she is lovely though – that’s for sure. Black on black and smells of fiiiiine leather. I hope that scent never fades! Or at least I hope it sticks around long enough for Zack to appreciate it.

Getting a new car in winter though … not the greatest. It was rainy then snowy, so she’s all dirty and not shiny whatsoever. I already took her through the car wash once, but the cleanliness didn’t last. Now, among many other reasons, I’m ready for Spring so I can spend hours cleaning and waxing this baby!

I did travel back to good ol’ Storm Lake for Christmas and, yes, I did feel like a badass rolling up on my block in my brand new fucking Lexus. My dad is so proud of me for it too – he wanted to show it off on my behalf! My family was impressed with it, people made comments to my parents about it too. Needless to say, my ego was stroked. And yeah, I fucking liked that feeling.

It was nice being on  a high especially given how low the low has been recently. The last couple of weeks have been so rough, emotionally. I went through a lot of fear and uncertainty as it pertains to our marriage. I kept having this bad feeling in my core that things were changing, that we were growing distant, and that they wouldn’t be the same when he got back. That somehow, this would lead us to getting divorced! That already there were signs that were pointing in that direction. It was bad. I spent a lot of nights crying myself to sleep, crying while I journaled, and sometimes even just crying in my office whenever I would think about it. I wanted so desperately to talk about my fears and what I was feeling, but I couldn’t talk to my friends about it. But I avoided it; I just didn’t feel they could relate or understand. Jennie, bless her heart, would only give me the “feel good” advice that I want to hear instead of being as honest as she needs to be. Amy, would tell me what I need to hear – which is that I need to talk to Zack about it and I already knew that. But I was so scared to bring it up with him. Scared that it would confirm my fears, that things have changed, that we’re struggling. Scared that it just made me seem insensitive and like whiney baby to add “my feelings” on to his plate when he’s half a world away, in a damn sandbox, and in combat zone. I was just too afraid to mention it – until last week. I cracked.

It was Thursday night and I was planning on traveling back to Storm Lake Friday morning. I stayed up lter than I should have catching up on my devotional readings and journaling – and then the darkness swarmed over me and I broke down. I don’t know how long I cried for – but it was the draining, gut wrenching, really emotional sobbing that just leaves you feeling empty and defeated. I had to talk to Zack about it and since I was going to be spending a few hours the following morning driving, I figured it would be a good time for us to talk.

I messaged him and told him we needed to talk, asked him to call me if he could the following day during my drive. But I realized I’d never be able to get out what I needed to say during a phone conversation though. Mostly because I could barely think about it without crying, let alone speak about it. So I decided to start jotting down my thoughts and the notes eventually turned into full blown paragraphs. There it was all out on paper – or rather, the screen I guess since I typed it on my phone. I sent it to him. Figured it was a good start.

He called me the next morning. He said he felt caught off guard because he wasn’t expecting that. He hadn’t had those thoughts or feelings that things had changed, but he was glad I brought it up so we could work on it. He said he could and would try harder. Our talk has helped, it really has. I feel so much more at ease and at peace.

On Christmas we talked twice, for a total of almost two hours. It was wonderful. I miss him like crazy. But with the start of the new year, it’s FOUR months until he’s home. Four months! That time will fly, hopefully. He’s leaving for another base soon and will be there 3 months – 90 days! Doesn’t sound as long when you phrase it that way. Then he’ll head back to Kuwait for a month and start his journey home on or about April 20th. He’ll have to return to Belvoir for some time and then he’ll be home, home.  

I wish I could say that it’s for good, but unfortunately it isn’t. Sometime in May he’ll be back in our home, but then he leaves in June for a six week training somewhere in Missouri. Insert big disappointing sigh here. I guess I’m not even all that upset about it. I mean after spending this many months apart, what’s another six weeks? Especially when we’ll be in the same time zone! I’ll even be able to visit him while he’s there. So, overall not a big deal I guess. Plus this is so important to him; I know how badly he wants to do this so he can be promoted. If it’s important to him, it’s important to me. I’ll support him, even if it means him leaving again for some time.

As I think ahead to what will be in store for us over the next couple of months and in the new year, I have to reflect on what this year has brought. And – oh my goodness – was it a wild fucking year. A rollercoaster, really. Awesome and pretty incredible – but I don’t mean awesome and incredible in the traditional, positive sense like, “It was amazing!” I mean it in a more literal way that I am actually in awe by it and it is hard to believe all that happened over the past 12 months. Shall we recap?

To start, I went on my first trip abroad all thanks to the love of my life and it was the most amazing and memorable trip a girl could hope for. Not only did I get to travel through Italy with Zachary, but he proposed! He asked me to spend the rest of our lives together in the most beautiful and romantic place and in a city that I have been captivated by since the seventh grade – Venice ... on a gondola ride, at sunset in fucking Venice. I had a proposal straight out of a movie. If that’s not something for the books, I don’t know what is.

Fast forward to just a few weeks after our trip and come to find out that my fiancé is being deployed in a few short months. My world was turned upside down. What would this mean for us? Was our life going to be put on pause for a year while he’s away? Do we get married now before he leaves? Do we wait? Do we do just a courthouse wedding now and a ceremony later? Do I have to plan a wedding on my own? What if worst case scenario happens? What if he doesn’t come home? Why is this happening?

A few weeks after that, we make the official decision to get married before he leaves. And we also decide that will be it. We will have a tiny ceremony and a party at our house and that’s it. No fancy re-do wedding when he gets back.

On June 10th I said “I do” to the love of my life. We had the most intimate ceremony with just our immediate family and closest friends followed by a little party in our backyard. No, it wasn’t the wedding that I dreamed of, but in the end it was our story and it was absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t do it over for the world.

We spent less than a month living together as husband and wife before he left home on July 5th.

In August, I was fortunate enough to travel abroad for the second time and took a girls trip to Ireland and Scotland. It was a wonderful trip and something I will never, ever forget.

The week after I got back from Ireland, I traveled to D.C. for the first time ever to visit Zack where he was stationed. I saw the monuments and all the sights. Definitely a memorable trip as well.

In the days that followed my world got turned upside down for a second time when a routine trip to the doctor’s office turned into much more. I went through weeks of medical testing and a lot of uncertainty. I was referred to an oncologist where more testing was done. It was a cancer scare and again my whole future was called into question. Thankfully, the tests came back clean. I’m still due to follow up with the oncologist in early January for more blood work but given the results of the tests, the threat is very minimal.

I visited D.C. a second time. Zack left the country. I got a new kitten. I got a new car.

I think rollercoaster is a good word for it.

Needless to say, I’m ready for more steadiness in 2018. I welcome many more positive and up things, but the lows have been pretty shitty in 2017 so I could use a more smooth and steady year. I think it will be a big one too though, for other reasons. I have big plans and goals and things to accomplish. Yeah, the resolutions are starting again. Although I’m kind of over using that word – it just seems to have negative connotations associated with it. Is goals better?

Anyway, I’m making a list. There are a few things that I want to get done or get into the habit of doing better this year. Things I want to improve on. In addition to that, there are things that aren’t necessarily goals for me, but that I think will happen … like, say, getting pregnant? Definitely not a goal, but I think it’s in the stars for 2018.

We will see. Bring it, 2018 – I’m coming for you!

[theruinthatfollows-blog]

Albatross

It’ll be seven years this January since I was raped, the first time. Four years in June the second time. One month today since I was released from Havenwyck Psychiatric Hospital.  I finally sunk to the bottom of my well. No one said rock bottom would be like this, that it would be like falling asleep. Slow, gentle, and suddenly so deep and dark; no one said it would be this hard crawling back up either.  

There’s much, much more to my story, but I don’t quite know how to translate it yet. For years, friends and family have told me to write a blog, share my story, my pain. Every time I try I feel lost; and for the sake of those who know me, and will know of this blog, I will be changing the names of certain individuals. 

So where the fuck do I begin? Do I start with where I’m at now or how I got here? Do I do both? In pieces? A reflection of my fragmented mind? Let’s start with the perfect storm that led to my diagnosis. . . 

At the end of July, I had just moved into my first apartment. Ever. Twenty-five years old, and I finally had a space to call mine, in a sense. I knew my depression was getting bad a few months prior, around the time of my birthday, but I ignored it. I slept 11 hours on Saturdays. I barely combed my hair. My cats were lucky if I cleaned the litter box more than three times a month. I had been depressed since I was a teenager and nothing so far had truly helped so I let go of trying. I still took my paxil, but nothing changed. 

It wasn’t too long after I moved into my own place that my father needed to have a surgery. Bypass surgery. On his left leg which he hadn’t been able to feel for the last few years due to undiagnosed diabetes. The vascular specialist urged him to go in for surgery immediately. My father is not a perfect man, but he was the perfect man for the job of helping to raise me. He understood me in ways no one else, not even my friends did, because he and I have similar souls. The idea of losing my father, even though the procedure would be routine, immediately caused me anxiety. And to make matters worse, the original procedure couldn’t be done because of complications with my father’s veins and the insurance company’s change of policies, which they conveniently forgot to inform their insurees of.  So the surgery went from being scheduled in early August to early September. My depression and anxiety level stayed the same. I barely ate. I barely slept a full eight hours. I worked forty hours a week. 

September 10th: two days before my father’s surgery

I am anxious. I’m bored and lonely. I figure, well, I’ll go to the mall and get some cool knick-knacks and posters for my apartment; or I’ll find a funny t-shirt for my dad that will cheer him up when I see him in the hospital. I stop what I’m doing and just grab my purse and go. Uncombed hair in a bun, hoodie, no deodorant. I did not give a fuck what I looked like. I didn’t care about anything, except my family, but even then, I felt so much it was numbing. I get to the mall and enter through one of the bigger stores, Lord & Taylor. I head up to the second level where the fun stores like Hot Topic and Spencer’s are located. 

Almost as soon as I get out into the rest of the open aisle ways, a tall, Middle Eastern man makes eye contact with me. He asks to show me something at a kiosk two or three feet away. I don't know why I didn't just say, fuck off. I don't know why, but I sat down. I’ve always been told that I am too nice for my own good. This isn’t the first time I’ve found it to be prophetic.

Almost immediately this man started calling me "Mufasa”, "honey” and “cute”. While he uses these sexually charged terms of harassment, I grow increasingly uncomfortable. This man, Jovani, proceeds to call me cute again and tells me he wants my number. At this point, I feel trapped and creeped out. "What if this man follows me and rapes me?" I've been raped by someone I thought was my friend, so I can't imagine what a stranger could be capable of. No one, male or female, should ever have to consider this, but I have, and I did. I felt unclean. I felt my rapists all over me again. I felt sick.

Every other time he mentions the product, he tells me I'll get free stuff or I'll get a deal because I am cute. “I really want your phone number, I'm not joking with you, Mona-Monet." He keeps talking about getting my number and starts getting handsy with me, slightly brushing my chest as he tosses my hair forward. I finally give in and agree to buy his product, as he places a blank receipt slip in front of me and says, "phone number" with a creepy smile. I give him my debit card for the hair straightener and two conditioners for $159 dollars. Then, I black out. It's the first time in more than 6 years, that I've blacked out. It's not convenient. It's not fun. It's terrifying. (The psychiatrists think the psychosis began earlier when my PTSD was triggered, but that the break didn’t happen until later.)

Next that I know, I'm walking with two bags, heavy bags, in Spencer's. I don't remember getting all this shit. What the fuck?, I think to myself. “It’s probably all the free stuff he said he was gonna give you. You probably just blacked out for a second or two.” I try to keep my cool.  I don't know what's happened, but I do know I no longer want to be there or anywhere where this man could find me. I leave and head to Wal-Mart for some groceries on my way back home. I stop at the atm inside to check my account. " No balance inquiry," it says. Well, I figured it was a glitch and pay for my stuff with my credit card. I log online to my bank account in the car. 500 dollars, gone. I'm panicking. Why the hell is 500 dollars gone? What the fuck happened? I drive back to the mall and message a friend from work. I'm crying and can barely muster up the courage to go inside and confront his man who sexually harassed me. I breathe in and out slowly until I can move my legs. I can't even make it to the kiosk. I see him and hide behind one of the big ninja turtle posters by the elevator. I see that he's texted me because he says it’s him, Jovani, and I ask if can return all the items in these two bags. He said no "no refunds. Only exchanges." From what I could remember, he never mentioned a no-refund policy. I didn't see it on the receipt I signed. I freak out. I call a friend, crying, almost sobbing. I leave as fast as I can and drop one of the bags in the store I left through. The other bag, I threw away when I got home. I didn't keep the original receipt. 

Monday - 9/11 Now 700 dollars is gone from my account. An additional charge from the merchant had been made. I call the bank, they say that can't do anything because technically the charges were on hold and in the meantime call the manufacturer. After explaining the situation, the manufacturer refused to refund my money. The only time I’ve spent more than 500 dollars was for rent and a lease deposit. I wait and hope for the best. I go to bed immediately when I get home, tossing and turning the whole night.

Tuesday - 9/12 day of my father's bypass surgery. Couldn't and didn't sleep through the night, got to work at 7 to start a 10-hour shift (I worked 40 hours by Thursday without taking a lunch to be with my father on Friday the 15th). I do my work anxiously as I wait for the news on my father. I check my bank account during a short morning break; now all my money was gone, almost $1200. I immediately call the bank to get dispute paperwork. I fill out the forms and use the entire back of the sheet to explain what happened. Fax it. Finally, I get news that my father made it through surgery and will have a hard recovery. 

For the two days following, I work ten-hour shifts and hear nothing from the bank. I don’t eat dinner. I miss a night of taking my Paxil. I call the bank during my lunch period and a worker tells me they sent a letter and via the account manager my dispute reasoning is "insufficient." I break down in front of my coworkers. They have no idea of how my family has lived pay check to pay check and the burden of private student loans with an 11 percent interest rate. They don’t understand the pressure I’ve felt to be more than myself, to be greatness, to be better. I worked hard for that money, and it was taken. I lost control. I was helpless, like when I was raped.  My brother and friends keep telling me to file a complaint but I don’t consider it until that Saturday. Before I went to the mall to file a complaint I drove 2 hours to see my father in the hospital and offer my mother some much-needed support. 

I avoid the entrance I used the last time I went to the mall. I find customer service and tell them a merchant stole my money and I want to file a complaint. I start crying. I can’t seem to stop crying lately. A security officer is immediately called. He takes my statement. I wasn’t much help to him. I'm confused, agitated. I got my dates mixed up and thought it was two days ahead of the 15th. I couldn’t remember the drive to the mall. I couldn’t stop crying or shaking. The security officer is doing the best he can to keep me calm, he takes thorough notes. Novi police come out to the mall. They take my statement again and proceed upstairs to the kiosk. My face hurts from all the tears. My stomach is in knots. 20 minutes pass. The police officers and security guard look angry. Jovani showed them three receipts. He showed them texts on his phone with my number attached. He told them a whole different story. I did not recall three transactions. I did not recall more than the text asking for a refund. I couldn’t fathom what they meant or could be talking about. I had no recollection. After crying and pleading with them to help me, they place me under arrest for filing a false police report. All the while, people stare and take pictures. One of the police officers told me that I was "lucky he wasn't charging me with a felony." As the doctors later explained, this is when I had a psychotic break. I had blackouts before. I had disassociated before while I was being raped. Nothing like these blackouts, so close together happening though. Nothing so terrifying. I remember stepping out of the police car while counting to twelve. Next memory: hands strapped down, lying in a hospital bed, clumps of my hair on the bed beside my right hand. The nurses ask me why I was pulling out my hair. Next memory: waking up in the middle of the night, a different room. Two days later after the immense amount of drugs I was under finally wore off some, I find out from a polite nurse that I have been involuntarily petitioned for a stay (an indeterminate amount of time) at Havenwyck Hospital - a psychiatric hospital. No one knew where I was for three days. I had no one. No phone privileges for two days. No change of clothes. I smelled horrible. I’m still processing my stay at the hospital. All the smells, sights, sounds, feelings. Dr. Tadeo diagnosed me with Bipolar II disorder with OCD tendencies, trichotillomania, and PTSD.

It’s been a month since my six-day stay at Havenwyck. I have a psychiatrist. This psychiatrist does not really believe in PTSD but believes I had Bipolar II, OCD, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I have a therapist as well that I now see once a week. Soon I have another court date to determine the eligibility of probation for the unintentional false police report. And just recently my work put me on a leave of absence because of my poor performance and accidental overdose of Xanax. My albatross only grew heavier at the bottom of the well. . .